


Turnabout

by inkedinfantasy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eluvians, Gen, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:50:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedinfantasy/pseuds/inkedinfantasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A meeting of the minds in something of a hopeless place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turnabout

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a bit of an experiment. It's a sort of mash-up of about three different ideas that I had. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to offer feedback!

_She will not be here for long_.

This is the first thing Abelas thinks when he sees her, a new face among the ever-growing, ever-changing network of spies and agents. She is Dalish; most of her kind end up leaving as soon as they find out the truth of who they are working for. It doesn’t take long. A few days, maybe weeks if they are particularly obtuse, or away on business more often than not. They hear the others talking about it soon enough. The Dread Wolf does not bother trying to keep it a secret among his own people. He is the one to tell them himself, in some cases.

She arrives near midday with a small group of agents returning from Kirkwall. She is a mage, he notes, and their mages are typically recruited for specific tasks.

He wonders, only idly, what she has been recruited for.

He receives an answer quite promptly.

The very next day, another agent approaches him, an elven woman named Namane. The newly arrived mage is trailing behind her. 

“This is Merrill,” Namane tells him without fanfare. “She’s here to help us cleanse and repair eluvians. Her first stop is the Temple of Mythal, and you’re to be her escort.” She turns to the mage—Merrill. “This is Abelas. He’s very familiar with the Temple and he’ll be keeping an eye on your work.” 

Merrill nods before turning to him and smiling. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you.”

He does not reply. Her smile falters slightly.

Namane clears her throat. “The two of you should get going as soon as possible. We’ve already established a temporary camp in the Arbor Wilds to support this project.” She glances between the two of them. “Get the job done and keep in contact. I’ll want regular status updates and reports of any problems you run into. And just...try to keep it civil.” This last bit is directed entirely at him.

“Of course,” Merrill says. She looks back at him. “I’m ready to leave whenever you are. I’m afraid I didn’t bring much with me. That is, I didn’t have much.”

* * *

Even with the aid of the eluvians that are still operational, they are not able to get much closer than the outskirts of the Arbor Wilds. Scanning for landmarks, he estimates it will take a day or two to make their way to the camp Namane had mentioned. 

Merrill seems inclined to stick close to him. It’s not as if they are unaccompanied; in fact, they are joined in their journey to the camp by a small caravan bent on resupplying the outpost. She exchanges a few polite words with them, but the majority of her attention is directed elsewhere. 

“The Wilds are so lovely.” His reticence upon their initial meeting has not deterred her in the least. “My clan never ventured this far south. There were lots of rumors about the place, talk that it wasn’t safe. I don’t think I’ve ever been further south than the Brecilian.” 

She pauses for a moment. When it becomes clear he is not going to offer any sort of comment or reply, she continues, “It doesn’t seem especially dangerous here. No more so than any other forest.”

A few of the other elves have taken notice of the two of them now, glancing nervously between them. 

“Our Keeper was always the cautious sort, especially when it came to magic.” Her face contorts for the briefest of moments as she says this. “I’m not sure she even knew why everyone said to avoid this place. For her, it was enough that they said it, I think.”

“The danger you speak of is long gone,” he finally says. “Driven out by _shemlen_ and their desire to seize what is not theirs.”

“Oh!” Merrill’s eyes widen and she bites her lip, the expression of someone who had not recognized the seriousness of the subject they had been discussing. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…” She trails off, jaw clenching as she tries to find the proper words. “It’s a lovely place,” she repeats. “I would love to see more of it for myself.” 

“From what I’ve heard, most of the work you’ll be doing is at the Temple,” one of the nearby elves mercifully chimes in. “Though that place is big enough on its own.”

Merrill’s attention shifts from him to the other elf then, and she does not speak to him again that day.

* * *

They reach the camp well before nightfall the next day. Merrill is transfixed at the sight of the Temple. She keeps stealing glances at it, rocking back and forth on her heels as she is assigned a tent and briefed on how things are going to be run by the agent in charge of the camp. 

When her instruction is completed, she nods and wanders off. The agent then turns to Abelas, face slipping back into a bored, neutral expression. No need to put on a show for one of the regulars. 

He is assigned a tent. He receives his instruction: show her what she needs to see, no more, no less. Supervise her work. It will be best just to leave her to it, the agent says. She’ll know what to do. This suits him just fine. 

Speech completed, the agent loses interest in him very quickly and instead looks to where Merrill has gotten to, immediately losing their composure when they see she’s made it halfway to the entrance of the Temple already.

“Er, hey, wait!” Merrill stops at their shout, staring uncertainly as they jog up to her. “Miss…” The agent pauses, suddenly at a loss.

“Merrill,” she offers.

“Merrill, yes. Today we were only meant to procure you any tools you may need and give you time to get organized and settle in.” The agent’s smile is back, stiff as can be. “You can get started on your work tomorrow.” 

“Oh.” Merrill frowns, clearly disappointed. “Well, if you think that would be best.”

She does not require any special tools, as it happens, nor does it take her much time to settle in. Theoretically, at least. _Settling_ seems to be the last thing on anyone’s mind that night, as her eager anticipation is nearly palpable.

She spends the evening pacing every which way around the camp, casting glances at the Temple. 

Most of the agents suffer in silence, occasionally glaring at her passing figure as they sit around the fire. A few of them seem desperate to distract her, even for a moment, to stop her constant pacing. They ask her all sorts of questions—do you have any idea how long it will take, will it really be usable once it’s fixed, are you _sure_ you don’t need any tools?

She stops for a moment, maybe two. She gives them all the same answer: “I’ll know better once I get a chance to look at it,” delivered with a placid smile. A couple of the elves by the fire mutter that they’re _this close_ to just letting her try her luck in the Temple in the middle of the night, if that’s what she wants, at least then we could get a decent night’s sleep.

Abelas watches it all impassively from his tent. Eager as she might be, he knows no one will send her off tonight. None of them would want to disobey orders by letting her go and then having to take the fall if something happened to her. The chances are slim she’d run into any trouble, but that wouldn’t be a risk they were willing to take. 

Eventually, mercifully, she calms down enough to retire for her tent. Most all of the other agents have gone to sleep already, and Abelas has long since closed the flap of his tent to the outside. As the night wears on, her darting silhouette, growing fainter as the fire burns down, eventually disappears entirely. He does not realize she has stilled until he hears the soft rustle of someone entering the tent to the left of his. 

With this, the camp grows dark and quiet.

Abelas does not sleep.

* * *

The next morning, the first noises of waking he hears come from the tent to his left, followed by others within minutes. When he emerges from his tent, he spots Merrill sitting by the fire eating breakfast, a small pack, already full, resting by her knee. When she spots him, she smiles tentatively and waves. He offers a curt nod in response, sitting down to eat. 

She finishes long before he does, already waiting on the outskirts by the time he has eaten and gathered his own pack. Half the camp is still asleep as they set out.

Their progress through the depths of the Temple is steady. Merrill’s eyes dart around, taking in as much as she possibly can as they make their way to the now-empty Well and the eluvian. To her credit, she does not slow or stop, though her eyes linger on statues and inscriptions as they pass. As they finally approach the Well, her gaze brightens with interest at the tall golden frame and the countless fragments of glass still scattered around the bottom of the empty pool.

Abelas sets his pack down on one of the steps leading down into it as Merrill stands at the edge, hands on her hips, frowning down at the mess. “I probably should have brought shoes, shouldn’t I?”

Without waiting for a reply, she begins making her way around the edge of the pool, approaching the frame of the eluvian while gingerly stepping around the stray shards.

“This one’s big,” she says. “I’ll have to lay it down to fix it.”

It takes a combination of determined pushing, shoving, and a bit of magic to get the towering frame laid down. Most of the rest of the morning is spent properly positioning it and sweeping aside any pieces of glass that would have been trapped underneath it.

Merrill, now out of breath and sporting a few new cuts on her feet from the occasional misstep, steps back to survey the scene.

“Right,” she says. “Time to get to work.”

* * *

The days slip by; quiet, steady, and, more often than not, unspeakably dull. Nearly all of their time is spent at the Temple; Merrill is diligent, and most days they do not return to the camp until after dark. She keeps up a steady stream of chatter in the beginning, but faced with his silence and rare, clipped replies to even the most innocent questions, she gradually shifts the bulk of her focus onto her work. 

For one of these new elves, so young and transient, her approach to repairing the eluvian is more practiced than uncertain. _She has done this before_ , he realizes. Their mages are recruited for a reason. 

On the fifth day, curiosity and boredom overwhelm his silence.

“When have you worked with eluvians before? You are not new to this.”

She looks up, startled by the sudden blunt question. Then she smiles, a little sadly.

“It’s rather a long story,” she tells him. “My clan found one once. It wasn’t like this one—it had been corrupted. Two of our hunters discovered it and, well…” She pauses, looking from him to the handful of glass she’d been in the middle of placing. “It went rather badly for them. It was broken, to avoid any more trouble. But even if it was tainted, I knew we couldn’t just leave it there. It was a part of our history, a chance to find or reclaim... _something._ ” Her fingers curl around the pieces she holds as she emphasizes the word. “I took a shard of it, to see if I could cleanse it and use it to restore a proper eluvian.”

She tells him the whole story as she works that day: piecing together what she could from the shard and known lore, painstakingly reconstructing the mirror, her deal with the pride demon when her Keeper refused to help her cleanse it.

She tells him what came of it. Ostracized by her clan, leaving to live among the humans and the city elves, and becoming permanently outcast upon the death of her Keeper.

_Heavy sacrifices_ , he thinks. And for what? A chance to reclaim some small bit of past knowledge? Some lost history? To preserve an essential piece of her people, safeguarding it from being lost, or falling into the wrong hands…

He hesitates.

He supposes, perhaps, he can understand that. 

A dedication to duty, no matter the cost. Maybe that is why they have both ended up here, though she does not yet know the true cost. Even he has not been told precisely what they are striving for, but he has his suspicions. 

It does not bother him. It shouldn’t. He has always been prepared to die for his duty. 

As he reflects upon this, a question, a traitorous, invasive little thought, slips into his head.

She is staring at him expectantly, as if she can see it written out on his face and is merely waiting for him to ask.

He pushes the question back. “Unsurprising. People all too readily destroy what they do not understand.”

She lets out a small sigh at that.

“Yes,” she agrees. “They really do.”

* * *

Restoring the eluvian bit by bit is a time-consuming process, fitting each part into place and carefully healing the cracks with magic. 

“This one is so large,” Merrill tells him. “It will go quicker for smaller ones.” 

She had started talking to him again, after he’d asked about her experience with eluvians. She talks about all kinds of things.

She tells him about her clan, her time spent in Kirkwall, her work with the city elves after the rebellion, and how she had come to this organization of sorts. Harmless, trivial little stories.

He listens. Often, he makes no reply or acknowledgement. But he listens, and she seems to know it.

“Have you had experience with eluvians?” she asks him. “Fixing them, I mean.”

He looks down at the shards gleaming around the place she is kneeling. “Not fixing them, no.”

“It’s not as bad when you have an actual frame and eluvian glass to work with,” she observes. She looks up at him. “It’s mostly placing the pieces that’s the hard part. The rest you can do with magic. I can show you the spell, if you like.”

He hesitates momentarily. Once again, however, curiosity overcomes detachment. He stands, approaching the mirror and sitting down across from her wordlessly. 

“It’s rather like putting together a puzzle,” she says. “You find where they fit.” She slides a small, jagged shard into place. “The spell is a bit tricky the first few times, but it’s fairly simple once you get the hang of it. It’s not quite like healing a living thing, but it’s not quite like fixing an object either. It’s somewhere in between.” 

He works on the eluvian with her from then on. The days go quicker that way. She still talks to him, and asks him things. Sometimes, he answers.

* * *

“How do you know this place?” she asks him one day.

His hand stills mid-motion. This sudden hesitation prompts her to explain.

“Namane said you were familiar with the Temple. I was just wondering. You don’t have to answer if you don’t—”

“I was a priest of Mythal. I led the sentinels here in service. We were responsible for protecting knowledge that would have otherwise been lost.”

She had gone completely silent the moment he started speaking, appraising him seriously. “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The silence stretches out, long enough that Merrill drops her gaze back to the glass. “I…never mind. Maybe that’s a bit too personal...”

“Corypheus and his army found this place. They sought the knowledge imparted by the Well of Sorrows that would allow him to unlock this eluvian. The Inquisitor and her forces opposed him, allied with the sentinels here. One of her people took the knowledge of the Well. With it gone, and the eluvian shattered, there was no reason for us to remain.”

“I see.” She shuffles a few pieces around, not moving to pick any of them up. “It must have been hard. Losing that sense of purpose, I mean, and not knowing where to go from there. It felt a bit like that when I left my clan for good. I know it’s not the same thing, but I thought...well, I don’t know.”

“I understand.” He is silent for a moment more. “You are not wrong. It was…difficult.” Her words have pushed his thoughts in a dangerous direction. The question from those early days comes to him once again.

His hand rests on a single shard, curling and uncurling his fingers without picking it up. The question is so clear in his mind. Words. Finding the right words feels near impossible.

By the time he is able to put his thoughts in order, Merrill has moved on, telling a story about a couple of children from her clan. In a way, it is a relief. He lets the thought drift away once more.

* * *

The thought stays safely locked away for the time being. The eluvian’s completion grows nearer with every passing day, and it will be no small relief to leave the Temple behind.

He thinks absently that Merrill will probably disappointed. 

He pauses on this thought, taken aback. It shouldn’t surprise him, really. With all the time they’ve spent here, it’s natural that he would grow accustomed to her thoughts and her presence. 

He thinks back to his initial appraisal: that she would not remain here long. Yet here they were, weeks later, and she hadn’t gone anywhere. Surely she had to know the truth by now? 

Perhaps she knew and she did not mind. This seemed unlikely; she had been the First of her clan, after all, a lore-keeper and protector. Still, it was possible. 

It was difficult to picture her as one of the many agents always coming and going, suffused with a sense of grim determination. It was a specific sort that was drawn to the Dread Wolf, and everything that he had seen of her did not seem to fit.

It would be easy for her to leave while she was still out here, he realizes. Wandering off into the wilderness when coming or going from the Temple. It would be some time before anyone noticed she was missing, and they would be hard-pressed to find her in the thick of the wilds with that head start. 

He wouldn’t have to let anyone know. It would be easy enough to make an excuse.

He pauses once more, furrowing his brow at the direction in which his thoughts had turned. Why was he thinking about this in the first place? Thinking of betrayal when he has no idea if she even wants to leave…

His train of thought drifting once more, he decides to ask her, thought the question does not come out particularly direct. 

“How much do you know of who we are working for?”

She no longer seems surprised when he speaks; she does not even look up from her work as she considers the question.

“As much as I need to, I think. Most of it I’ve heard secondhand. He’s a rather private sort, isn’t he?”

“He is opposed by the former Inquisitor,” he says. “She is a Dalish elf herself.”

“Yes,” she agrees vaguely, only half listening as she shifts through the scattering of pieces still surrounding her, now substantially smaller.

“What do you know of his intentions? Do you know to what end you work for under his leadership?” he asks.

The corner of her mouth twitches. “I know what I need to know.” He waits, but she offers no further explanation.

“He is Fen’Harel,” he tells her, a last, weak attempt at finding the proper words.

She looks up at that. “I know. He told me that himself when I arrived, and he offered to remove my _vallaslin._ ” 

He merely nods, unable to think to reply. He had received the same offer not long after the Dread Wolf had sought him out. 

He observes her face, as if seeing it for the first time. She is still tattooed. She notices him staring and smiles, and he quickly ducks his head. 

“What they were is different than what we have made them,” she says. “Things change.”

His expression contorts bitterly at this reminder.

“You kept them too,” she observes.

“It is a reminder.” He balances a long, thin shard between two fingers, catching a fragment of his reflection, his own markings. “I pledged myself in service to Mythal. That is who I am and who I shall always be.”

“Do you really think so?” The question is soft, and he can feel her eyes on him.

“It has been too long since I have been anything else.”

“You are and will always be _you_ ,” she says. “However long you spent in service to Mythal, you have that.” 

He scoffs. “And what does that give me?”

“Freedom.” She gently plucks the shard from between his fingers, fitting it into place next to a piece she had just aligned. “A chance to choose.”

Silence falls once more. Looking up, he takes a slow breath. The last of the day’s sunlight filters down through holes and cracks in the ancient stone, illuminating it into an almost idyllic scene. Plants grow wild throughout the Temple now; the stones warm from the sun for the first time in centuries. Life, encroaching upon decay, the wild vitality of this new age slowly and surely swallowing up the remnants of a Temple for a dead goddess.

_You cannot keep things out forever,_ he thinks, and he is not certain whether it is a regret or a hope. 

That question, unbidden but calling louder than ever, snakes back into his mind, making his breath catch.

It takes him almost until they are leaving for the night to find the correct words. 

“Was it worth it?” he asks.

Immediately, he frowns. No, that wasn’t quite right. Even so, he feels the need to clarify.

“Your work with the eluvian back then. Was it worth it, everything considered?”

She blinks, for once speechless. “I…well. I suppose I’m not really sure. Nothing ever really came of it, to be honest. Nothing about elven history, anyway. But if I hadn’t tried, I might not have met my friends in Kirkwall.” She glances down at the eluvian at her feet. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for that work. If I hadn’t done any of it, I suppose I would still be with my clan. But I don’t know if I would have liked that better.”

“Do you ever regret it?” His mouth twitches irritably as soon as the words are out. That wasn’t the right question either. 

“Well, it’s the same sort of answer, I think. I don’t regret trying to reclaim a part of our history. I would never regret that. I…I regret what it led to. The bad bits, at least.” She hoists her pack over her shoulder. “It still hurts, thinking that I probably can’t ever go back to my clan. But I don’t regret leaving, if that makes sense. I would miss everything I found while I was away from them.” She frowns, her eyes distant. “The idea that I could leave but not return, that was what was the worst, I think.”

He nods, words catching in his throat. She is just about to leave when he tries one last time. 

“Did you ever begin to think you were making a mistake?”

She stops in mid-stride. She turns to look at him, expression curious. “Why do you ask?”

“I have been wondering.” It’s all he can bring himself to say. She gives the smallest of nods, as if this tells her everything she needs to know. 

“I doubted myself plenty. I doubted if I could do it, if I had even made the right choice in the first place. There are plenty of people who think I made a mistake in trying to repair that eluvian. And you know, maybe they’re right. Maybe they’re not. Making a mistake doesn’t always mean things turned out for the worst.” She meets his eyes. “Mistake or not, I’m all right with where I ended up. It’s not about the past, really. It’s about what you can make of it.”

He does not trust himself to speak again, so he nods once, and they make their journey back to camp in silence.

* * *

A few more days, and the eluvian is complete. Merrill double-checks the entire thing, scanning the area for any small, stray pieces they could have missed before hoisting the huge frame back into place. She offers him a satisfied smile before saying, “We should head back to camp and send word to Namane. She’ll want to know the job’s finished.” 

It is barely past midday as they leave. An agent promises to send off their message, and tells them they should head out as well.

“She was very specific about that. Once you’re done, you’re to head back to the eluvian closest to the wilds and return to base,” they tell her. “You know it’s not a long trip, but we’ll set you up with any supplies you need before you leave.” 

* * *

In two days’ time, they are back where they came from, as if nothing had ever happened.

Merrill is commended for her work on the eluvian, and a brief conference with Namane begins planning for where she needs to go next. The extent and details of the eluvian network are privileged information; no single agent has the entire picture, he recalls. Brinaya, the overseer of their mages, holds the knowledge of the keys to each eluvian, but not their precise locations. Namane knows their locations, but not their keys. 

He no longer has the chance to speak to or even see Merrill on a daily basis. She is gone often; sometimes no more than a few days, sometimes for weeks. Whenever she is around, though, she seems to make a point of seeking him out.

“Just got back from the Vimmarks,” she’d say, noting something down on a scrap of paper as she sits perched upon a table in the dining area, a small chest in the barracks, wherever she happens to track him down. “That brought back a lot of memories.”

He’ll ask a few questions about her travels, where she’s headed next. She can go on for hours about a single trip. 

It’s strangely agreeable, all things considered, Abelas decides.

As time goes on, however, her visits become less frequent. She is not working out in the field any more than usual. He still sees her around, from a distance or in passing. She’s always on the move, and barely seems to notice if they cross paths. It is not as though she is suddenly avoiding him specifically; she does not seem to take much notice of anyone around her, in fact. She looks…preoccupied. That is the best way he can think to describe it. 

Most of her running around is between Namane and Brinaya, she tells him in one of their increasingly rare meetings. She doesn’t say much beyond that; just that it has to do with “eluvian business,” and occasionally scribbling a thought down in whatever notes she carries with her.

He is not the only one who notices the change in her behavior. He hears the other agents talking about her, rumors that Namane in particular is growing suspicious of her. There is debate as to whether the suspicion is warranted. The stirring of discontent he feels when he first hears the news quickly establishes which side he falls on.

He recalls a thought from the Temple, the idea that she could leave so easily. Her chance for an easy escape has long since passed. If these rumors are true, if she is in such a tenuous position of trust, she could be in danger. 

This thought drives him to seek her out.

He remembers seeing her return from another eluvian job earlier that day, though he hadn’t seen her since. It’s late now, the halls deserted and quiet. He begins to think he should perhaps wait until morning, until he spots a faint glow from underneath a door at the end at the hall.

The room houses one of the primary eluvians used for transporting agents throughout Thedas and little else. There should not be anyone arriving or departing at this hour.

With steady, quiet, strides, he reaches the end of the hall and pushes the door open.

The eluvian is active, glowing. Merrill is crouched in front of it with her back to him, sliding a piece of paper into a small pack at her feet. At the sound of the door opening, she stands, an easy, unhurried motion.

She turns to him, her face uncharacteristically grim. “Are you here to stop me?”

He pauses, not so much out of uncertainty as the startled realization that he is not the least bit uncertain. “No.”

She smiles then, wry and weary. More than anything, she looks tired, with dark circles under her eyes, her face growing paler by the day. 

“You’re leaving.” It’s all he can think to say.

“I know what I need to know,” she says. Her eyes flick briefly to her pack. “Why are you here?”

“I meant to warn you. You are being suspected.” It seems pointless to tell her now.

“I know. All the more reason to leave while I still can.” She hesitates. “You should go. If anyone finds you missing tonight, it will only look bad for you tomorrow when I’m gone.” 

He nods. She picks up her pack, slipping it over her shoulder and turning back to the eluvian.

He needs to says something. Now, before she is gone for good. “I am glad to have met you,” he says. 

“I’m glad to have met you too.” She glances back at him a final time with the same soft, wry expression. “The former Inquisitor sends her regards.” 

With that, she disappears into the eluvian, the glow of the mirror fading behind her. 

* * *

Everyone is abuzz the next day with rumors and speculation, details trickling down from above. Confidential information though it may be, it is still a tricky thing keeping secrets from a group of people employed for the express purpose of gathering information unobtrusively.

Before the morning is out, he has heard the key details, and he has caught the eye of the authorities. 

Namane gazing at him sharply, mouth pressed into a hard, thin line.

_She must have had a map of the eluvians. I heard a part of it has gone dark—mirrors have been moved, agents redirected or captured._

Brinaya, as stern as she ever gets, standing with her arms folded.

_They can use them, too. They must have gotten a handful of the keys somehow._

The Dread Wolf’s eyes, coming to rest on him.

_And she just left? No one saw her?_

He has everything to hide. He worked with her most closely. He knows who she is, where she’s going, what she did. And he did not stop her.

_That’s not what I heard…_

He has nothing to hide. The Dread Wolf already knows.

He is remarkably calm as he processes these thoughts. He decides that it does not matter much. There is an easy enough solution to suspicion. Perhaps it is time for him to move on as well.

There’s no reason to be afraid, really.

After all, he will not be here for long.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been considering writing more in this series as well, as I'm pretty happy with how this turned out. So someday, eventually, this might become a series. I've got a bit of that started already. I also have a potential longfic in the works centering on Namane and Brinaya, a couple of my OCs who appear as minor characters in this fic. I'm always happy to talk about my OCs, so feel free to come find me at [my tumblr](http://inkedinfantasy.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
